Fallout: Trade Winds
by Bizu Campeche
Summary: And Hancock thought Ultra-Jet was a wild ride. The politician-hating, machete-wielding Julia Vidal is unlike anyone he's ever met before, and before long he's caught in the undertow of an unintended, crazy adventure.
1. Chapter 1

Waking from a haze of Ultra Jet and Mentats, John Hancock sat up from a tangle of nude bodies around him. Some loud noises had stirred him from his sweet, post-coital slumber. Fucking Super Mutants. Withdrawal pounded at his temples, and his fingers itched to light up a cigarette, so, after getting re-dressed, he took a swig of whiskey and his pack of Grey Tortoise and he headed outside for a smoke. It was around midnight now, though it might as well have been noon for him. He wasn't a fan of direct sunlight. Something about the exposed nerves on his corroded flesh not liking the ultraviolet rays and heat. Or maybe he was just that lazy, after all. What did it matter? He got shit done; it shouldn't have mattered _when_ he got it done.

His fingers still smelled like sex, he noted as he brought them up to his face for a drag of his cigarette. That made him smile. Another satisfied lover. Or lovers. Ah, who was counting, anyway?

The neon lights were glaring off Finn's bald head something awful and it made Hancock's near-permanently dilated pupils constrict painfully. The fucker was just standing there in the middle of the street, posing in the pool of the streetlights like he owned the place. _Cute, Finn. Very cute, _he thought, sliding on his sunglasses.

What wasn't as amusing was the way he was talking. Threatening a pair of newcomers—was that Nick Valentine?—trying to extort, what was it, insurance out of them? Yeah, he'd recognize those glowing yellow discs Nick called eyes, anywhere. His companion was much less familiar. A woman on the taller end of the spectrum, with black hair, slicked back and tied. Her legs were long, her thighs thick and fleshy, and her hips curvy and wide; he couldn't wait to see her leave so he could see what her ass looked like in motion. Sex on legs was what she was. And those lips. So full and plump and fucking _luscious. _He bet they'd feel good against his. Or anywhere, really.

Finn reached out to grab her and it all happened in a flash. She took the sheath of her weapon and cracked it over his face, leaving Finn's nose curving the other way in a spray of blood. She walked away. That was it; that was all it took: he loved this woman. This was the flesh of his flesh, the bone of his bones. She was the one. The Sunshine of his life. He'd marry her on the spot if he could.

"You fucking bitch!" Finn yelled out.

"Whoa, whoa," he said. "Time out." Not cool, Finn. Not cool. "Someone steps in through the gate the first time, they're a guest. You lay off that extortion crap."

Finn spun around, puffed out his chest like he fancied himself an alpha. Adorable. "What'd you care? They ain't one of us."

Okay. Fun time was over. Hancock was starting to feel his collar heat up. "No love for your mayor, Finn? I said let 'em go."

"You're soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there'll be a new mayor." He was threatening him. This needle-dick was actually threatening him.

"Come on, man. This is me we're talking about." Hancock strolled closer to him, face to face, close enough to smell the sour booze and shit-laced Jet on his breath. His hand hovered over the pocket of his red overcoat. "Let me tell you something." He placed a hand over Finn's shoulder. Palming his pocketknife, two stabs to the abdomen—one at the solar-plexus, one to the liver—and Finn dropped to the cobblestone floor. Hancock sucked in a thoughtful breath, if only for the air of respect for the dead. Couldn't have his guests getting the wrong idea about Goodneighbor. "Now, why'd you have to go and say that, huh? Breaking my heart over here."

He cleared the phlegm from his throat and wiped off his knife with the flag around his waist. "Now I know you had ole' Finn handled back there, but a mayor's gotta make a point sometimes. You all—hey, where'd she go?"

Nick stood with a nonplussed look on his face, staring down at the corpse at his feet. "To Daisy's," he replied in that deadpan tone.

Nick-Fucking-Valentine: one of his favorite people in the world. Hancock threw his arms around him and squeezed until he could hear one of his coils squeak. The synth groaned. "Nicky! Good to see ya! What brings you to Goodneighbor, brother?"

"Had an appointment with Doctor Amari," he said, straightening out his taupe fedora. "She's going to be seeing my client there, too."

Who, long legs back there? Sure enough, there she was, browsing through Daisy's wares. And that _ass. _What he'd give to just be in the presence of that glorious, crowd-stopping ass. His mouth was watering just thinking about it. Maybe he was going feral after all. "That's, uh... Some certified prime rib you're hoarding there."

When he thought Nick's frown couldn't get any bigger, it did. "She's a _client." _Something about his voice got more nasal when he was angry, and Hancock enjoyed messing with him just to hear it.

"So you and her ain't, you know..." He bumped the sides of his fists together in a vague gesture he'd decided to make up on the spot and whistled twice.

Oh, he was _really _mad now, and Hancock had to be careful just to avoid biting his tongue off to suppress his laughter. _"No."_

Great news, though he'd been asking as a courtesy. Nick was too stuck in his head, too stuck in the past to live life like the way he did, submerged in a life of every pleasure known to man. Probably didn't think he deserved it, and that made him sad for the synth. Not sad enough he wouldn't take his pleasures where he could, though. Hancock adjusted his cravat.

"Great. Then you won't mind if I dip in."

His jaw looked like the bolts on it got loose. "Didn't you see what she did to the guy before you?"

Hell yeah, he had, and it had only managed to send all the blood to his groin. "Yeah. Lucky for me, I ain't got much of a schnoz, to begin with." He waved at Nick on his way to Daisy's. "Wish me luck!"

That woman was still there, a bottle of pills in one hand and a can of purified water in the other. If it was chems she needed, then she should've come to him first; though, he doubted Nick would tell her that. She was slumped over on her elbows, leaning on Daisy's counter, eyes closed.

"Rough day?"

She hummed. "You wouldn't know the half of it."

"I feel ya, sister. I feel ya. Listen, that little scuffle back there—don't misunderstand. Goodneighbor's of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone's welcome. I don't tolerate folks picking on the vulnerable."

"So, what? You're mad because I broke your friend's nose?" She sipped her water like it was a fine wine.

Hancock laughed. Had she not seen him stab the bastard? "No, no. I was talking about Finn. Shouldn't have picked on you and Nicky like that. I don't like that shit."

She hummed again.

"To make up for it, why don't you and Nicky stay the night? There's a nice hotel up a ways: The Rexford. Your own rooms, on the house. Whaddya say?"

She was quiet for a while, and that was fine with him, too. Gave him a chance to appreciate her face a little more. Aside from the swollen, green and yellow bruising and cut along her cheek, the woman was a straight-up knockout, like one of those pinups from the pre-war magazines. In the flickering light, he could make out some freckles across her nose. Wondered how far down they went.

"What's your angle?" she asked.

A cynic. He could dig that. Meant she wasn't a fool, that she had a good head on her shoulders. "I'm the mayor. Goodneighbor's fine reputation is my angle, sister."

She smiled and it felt like a punch to the gut. In a good way. Maybe. "A politician. Great."

"Well, I ain't up for re-election for a while. But, if you feel like stepping into the booth with me, I ain't complaining." Yikes. Not his finest line. Oh, well.

A snort, the cutest snort he'd heard in... well... forever, and she was laughing, head tossed back. Her neck was long and smooth, speckled with more of those freckles, though the bruises and cuts made him frown on the inside. And her teeth. How were anyone's teeth that white and straight anymore? "Oh, my _God._ Does that line ever work with anyone?"

He shrugged and gave her his best smirk. "You tell me."

She quirked a brow at him and mimicked his side-smile.

And fucking checkmate. He decided to let her marinate on that, not to push things.

"Listen, it looks like you and my friend Nicky could use some R&R. So, why don't you take it? It's a courtesy. Least I could do after that asshole harassed ya."

It looked like she was biting back a smile, but she hummed. "Thanks."

"And if you need anything else, my place is the State House. Stop by whenever you feel like it."

"Mm-hmm."

From the looks of things, she'd had a hell of a couple of days and could use the space. If she felt like letting off some steam with him, she knew where to find him. And, God, he hoped she would.

* * *

The chalky taste of Grape Mentats swirled around over his tongue as he looked over one of the papers from the leaning tower of paperwork on his desk. Complaints, budget proposals, and at least one request from KL-E-0 to put turrets out in front of her shop. While Hancock considered his political views to be more on the socially liberal side, there was no guarantee she wouldn't shoot up every Jane and John Doe who passed by, all willy-nilly. **DENIED.** Again.

He groaned and sagged in his chair.

"You've done two pages," Fahrenheit said. Her arms were crossed and she was looking at him full of disapproval and disappointment. Like always.

"But I'm fucking bored over here. You do it."

"I ain't the mayor."

"Damn right you're not," he said, popping another Mentat in his mouth. "So, how's about you get off my back and let me work at my own pace?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes: the same look her mother used to give him. Kids these days had no fucking respect. In all honesty, it was his fault she'd turned out so rotten, but still. She could at least have a little faith in him.

There was a scuffling downstairs and then the doors burst open. Fahrenheit had her assault rifle trained on the intruder.

"Nicky?" Hancock asked, standing from behind his desk. Nick looked disheveled, and not in the fun way. His eyes were wide, and his limbs twitchy. Bad trip? "What's going on, brother?"

Fahrenheit gave him a questioning look. Hancock shook his head and she left.

"Listen, I got...I don't know how to explain it."

"I feel ya, brother. No rush. Just have a seat and we'll talk it out."

Whenever Nick removed his fedora, he _knew _shit was bad. One time, he'd started to think it was glued to his scalp when he took it off and started talking about Old Nick's memories and his main squeeze Jennifer Lands. Heavy shit. Hancock braced for it.

"It's, ah...about my client. Ms. Vidal."

If he could have still moved the cartilage near his ears, they would have perked up.

Nick scraped his metal hand over his bare scalp. The bright yellow in his irises dimmed and flickered for a second and he saw his jaw get tight. Either he was trying to word this without violating her privacy, or there was something much worse going on.

"I went to Amari's. Something about the case involved decoding some tech."

"I'm guessing this wasn't your regular hack job."

He let out a dry scoff. "No." His hands were shaking as he lit up a cigarette, barely getting it in his mouth. "No, it wasn't. It was, uh...Institute tech."

He felt his face fall. "No shit?"

"I wish." Nick blinked a few times, took a couple of drags from the cigarette and let the smoke billow out around him. He explained she'd been looking for someone, though he didn't specify, and that an Institute merc had taken this person. That the merc had been some kind of cyborg or something. And now he was stuck in Nick's head.

"Holy shit, brother. That's some heavy shit right there."

Nick nodded, staring off blankly. Not an expression he was used to seeing him wear. Didn't suit him. Nick Valentine was focused, sharp, observant. This one seemed...shell-shocked? Yeah, he didn't like this. Not one bit.

"I know you're planning to go back to..." Diamond City. Fuck Diamond City. "Back home. But, maybe you should stay here a while. You know, so the doc can keep an eye on you while this all blows over."

"She's scared of me."

"Amari?"

"Julia."

_Oh._ So her name was Julia. _Nice._ Suited her, in his opinion.

"She said I started talking like that bastard. And the thing is, I don't remember it at all. I remember feeling like I was...I don't know. Frozen? But I don't know what I said. What _he _said."

Shit. Hancock joined him and lit up a cigarette of his own. He'd probably need some Calmex after this. Would synths feel a high from Calmex? He wondered. "So, lay low here a while. She's probably just spooked from everything. It's a lot to take in at once."

"What I'm saying is...she needs help." Nick leaned in. _"Real _help, Hancock. She's hurt. Bad. And she's acting different."

"Don't worry, brother. I got you. I'll make sure to take good care of her."

"I mean it, Hancock. She's hurting. She's being...impulsive. She needs _real_ help."

If it weren't for the fact that it was Nick talking, Hancock would have been half insulted. The mere insinuation that he'd just jump into anyone's pants was... Well, it was well-founded. But he wouldn't take advantage of someone unable to properly consent. He might have been a Lothario, but he was more of a Lord Byron than a Marquis de Sade.

He sighed. "I swear I won't fuck your friend."

"I'm serious, Hancock."

"I swear on my honor as mayor of Goodneighbor that I will not fuck your friend."

"Hancock."

"What?" He threw his hands up.

"I need you to promise me you won't peddle chems to her."

"Oh, now you're just insulting me."

"I am as serious as a heart attack. She's not well and I'm not sure when she'll be well enough to continue. No chems, no breaking her heart..."

He grinned. "So, as long as I don't break her heart..."

"_Hancock."_

"I'm kidding. I'm just pulling your leg. Goddamn, Valentine. If I didn't know any better I'd say you have a thing for her."

Nick frowned. "It's not like that. She's just...been through a lot. I can't tell you, but...she needs a break. From everything."

He was a good guy, that Nick Valentine. Always helpful, always caring. Too bad he preferred his place in that shithole, Diamond City. He'd be a great fit here in Goodneighbor.

"I promise. Me, Fahre and Daisy will look after her," he said softly.

Nick sighed and sank into his chair. "Thank you."

* * *

By the third day when Daisy reported Julia hadn't left her room yet, he sent Fahrenheit to check in on her. Just in case she was in trouble. Just in case she was changing clothes, in which case, he _really_ shouldn't be there.

"Sleeping," Fahrenheit said, appearing into the room like some kind of ghost. Hancock nearly screamed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Took her pulse and everything. She's been eating about one meal a day, but not much of it."

"And she didn't wake up when you were there?"

She scowled. "Not everyone is as noisy as you."

Brat. A stealthy brat, but still a brat. But, that was good news. She was resting and eating (a little.) Probably trying to process everything, like Nick was—who happened to be performing more diagnostics than usual. A little push to go outside every now and then and she should be right as rain, right? Yeah, it'd be perfect. She'd feel better, find whoever it was she was looking for, and maybe then—

"You're not supposed to fuck her, remember?"

"_Goddammit,_ why does everyone think I'm gonna try to get in her pants?"

Fahrenheit raised her eyebrows, pursed her lips and pointed to the three naked people sleeping in his bed.

"Okay, okay. But I've done things for people, just for the sake of being _good,_ without asking for sex in return."

"But you usually get it anyway."

"No, I don't!"

"Magnolia."

"Hey, we had a connection! Anyway, you should be one to talk."

She crossed her arms and cocked out her hip. "Irma."

"Aw, she was just being nice. We traded services!"

"KL-E-0."

He felt his face blanch. "I—I was curious."

"MacCready?"

A staring contest. And he was first to flinch. Shit. "Get out." He could hear her mocking laughter echoing down the hall. Should've spanked her when he'd still had the chance. But as far as deadbeat dads went, he took the gold medal. He'd never been around. Always too high, too trying to escape his demons and mistakes. He and Dana hadn't planned on having Farrah, but he never thought of her as a mistake. Leaving them behind though? That had been a mistake. Ranked up there in the top 3 biggest fuck-ups in ole' John McDonough's life.

Fahrenheit, as she now called herself, hadn't been wrong, though. People were drawn to him. Or, rather, the persona of John Hancock: all that charisma and leadership and showman shit he wore on the outside. And he rarely turned the attention away. It numbed the loneliness at the top, the empty chill of a lifetime of failures. Made him feel like he could live another day if it meant there were a pair of warm arms to hold him at night. So, in the end, weren't he and the citizens of Goodneighbor just trading services?

* * *

A week later he got word that Julia was down at The Third Rail looking for work. He'd let it slip to Whitechapel Charlie that he needed some "cleanup" at the warehouse. Nick hadn't liked that. Said Julia was too injured and out of it to do it on her own. Oh, and that she couldn't shoot the Prydwen if it were parked right in front of her. So he had Charlie direct her to his good friend MacCready. Sure, he was prickly but an excellent shot and spotter. And maybe he could get her with Cait, once he purchased her contract, to build her strength back up. Yeah! Like a little boot camp slash vacation in Goodneighbor! Sunshine was gonna be up and at 'em in no time.

That night, Fahrenheit waltzed into his office like she owned the place—and he doubted he could've managed without her support. He'd give her that. From the frown she wore, he could tell whatever she had to report wasn't good.

"It's _her_ again."

He grunted. _Her. _Didn't surprise him in the least. Since having come into office, Bobbi had it out for him. "What now?"

"Other than getting a little too friendly with the Triggermen? She's got your little pet all wrapped up in the game."

His pet? "Sunshine?"

Fahrenheit rolled her eyes. "Ugh. A nickname already? Seriously?"

If he'd read all her reports correctly, then Bobbi was planning to undermine him somehow. He pulled out a drawer from the cabinet, looking for recent requests. Nothing from Bobbi, but several permits for construction from others. She was too smart to put her own name down on anything.

"I saw her and MacCready walking into one of the construction sites just outside the city. Want me to tail them?"

Outside the city? Now, why would Bobbi have a project outside the city? Was she building some kind of fort? "You know anything else about the site?"

She shook her head. "My men said it looked like any other remodel. Mostly indoors."

Bobbi wasn't the type to waste money on cosmetic upgrades, and definitely not on some building. Not unless there was something of greater value there.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just keep an eye on it. Don't do anything just yet. Oh... Get one of your guys to go in asking for work, and have him report back what he sees."

"Got it."

_Getting into trouble already, huh, Sunshine? _No matter. Nothing a little one-on-one couldn't fix.


	2. Chapter 2

By the tenth ground-shaking explosion, Hancock had to laugh and shake his head at Bobbi No-Nose's misplaced tenacity. He really had to give it to her: the old bat was as stubborn as shit. Petty, too. But, he'd clearly overestimated her intelligence if she'd thought she was being sneaky. And dragging Sunshine and Mac into it, too. Shame, really. Had Bobbi decided to work with him, they could've made big things happen for Goodneighbor: trade deals with other cities, start-up businesses. Oh, she could have been a contender. But she had to go and get greedy, didn't she?

Then again, had _he_ gotten greedy? He'd spent all this time reforming this town into a semblance of liberty and here he was thinking of punishing one of his citizens for following her own truth. Where was the line? From where he stood, it was starting to look blurry. Or maybe that was the jet withdrawal. Yeah, he should go do some more jet.

An hour later, Fahrenheit brought in both Sunshine (Julia. Her name was Julia. Couldn't let her hear what he called her in his mind) and Mac, all covered in silt and dust and mirelurk guts. They sat on opposite sides of the couch like a pair of angry siblings. He resisted the twitch at his lips.

"Wise decision, turning on Bobbi like that." Neither of them responded. Just what had transpired between these two that merited such icy silence? Maybe it was time for him to step in. Nick had asked him personally to care for Julia and, the more he thought about it, the less appealing it seemed to stay in Goodneighbor. "Lemme tell ya," he started, leaning his elbows on his knees. "This classy little tricorn hat of mine is getting heavy. Am I turning into the man? Some kind of tyrant?" That got Mac's attention, at least. "I spend all my time putting down the people I would've been proud to scheme with just a few years ago. I need to take a walk again. Get a grip on what really matters: living free."

"Wait, what about Goodneighbor?" she asked.

"Hey, the mayor's still the mayor, whether he's 'in residence' or not. I've walked out of here plenty of times. Keeps me honest. Can't let power get to my head. That's not what being in charge of Goodneighbor is about."

Damn. Not even a smile. "I hate politicians, Mayor Hancock. I've spent my life trying to rip power away from people like you."

Ouch. Scalding. Straight to the point and she didn't even flinch. "I can dig it, sister." This was going to require a more delicate touch. "Hey, Mac. I gotta talk business with Ms. Vidal. See Fahre on your way out. She's got something for ya." Like a grand in caps. Maybe some cigarettes and whiskey too, but who was counting?

He didn't even look at her when he left.

"What in the hell happened between the two of you? I gotta ask."

She sighed and sank into the couch. "We had static getting into Diamond City. So I told him we should play a married couple. He, uh... He didn't like that very much."

He winced. "Shit... He didn't tell you about Lucy, did he?"

"I found out from the bartender." She snorted. "I feel terrible."

Hancock popped two Berry Mentats in his mouth and let the chalky tablets dissolve under his tongue. "Ah, don't sweat it. Mac's still... He's grieving. But he's not petty. He'll get over it eventually. It's not like you meant to hurt him."

"No. But I know what it's like... I've been there. Hell, I _am _there. I didn't even think. I just thought, the quicker we got caps, the quicker I could..." She trailed off and shut her eyes like she'd said too much.

"Look, sister. Nicky ain't exactly tell me everything. He just said you're in some trouble and that you needed a hand. I get it. You're in a jam and you're trying to claw your way out of it." Everyone here had been through the wringer at least once, been through a situation where bystanders got caught in the heat of it all. "But if you want help, you're gonna have to tell me what's going on. I know we don't see eye to eye on some things, but I ain't exactly the type to look away when there's a person in need, ya feel me?"

If her gaze had gotten any sharper, she could've cut his jugular. "I just tried to rob you, Hancock."

He shrugged. "Who hasn't? I've made the same mistake once or twice." And had woken up, naked and ass up in his storeroom because Mentats and Bobrov's Finest Moonshine did. Not. Mix.

Sunshine pursed her lips in a pensive expression. Could've made a sculpture of her in that moment to shame fucking Rodin. Fuck his naked thinking dude on a rock. This was art right here.

"Tell ya what: go clean up and relax or whatever you need to do and then come find me, if you want the extra help. I'll be here when you wanna talk."

There was that distrustful expression again. Why did she look at him that way? He'd been nothing but straightforward with her from the start. Okay, so maybe he'd meant to use her to catch Bobbi redhanded, but no harm, no foul, right? He watched her leave through the double doors, those wide hips of hers swaying just so. Fahrenheit stood at the entrance to his office, arms crossed.

"Shoulda seen her punch No-Nose in the face."

"Yeah?"

"Fuck yeah. I'm thinking of buying her a drink."

"You wouldn't."

Her sparse eyebrows rose in defiance. "Think I won't?"

"No, I know you _would." _She got it from him, after all. "I'm asking you not to."

"Because you want to."

"That's not why."

"Mm, yeah, that's totally why."

"Don't you have something to go kill? Raiders or some shit?"

How had she gotten downstairs so quickly? The giant brat was stealthy as fuck. And that she had not gotten from him. "I heard she likes wine!" she shouted.

"Farrah, so help me God!"

* * *

There were times John Hancock loathed the persona he'd created. This was particularly so whenever he'd want a breather, whenever he'd want to blend in and enjoy living as a private citizen minding his own business. Couldn't do that as Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor. Not with every drifter and one-night stand and ex-lover surrounding him, clinging off his arms for him to shower them with affection, to entertain them, to hit them with the ole' razzle-dazzle of charm he kept in his pocket. Some old acquaintances had saddled up to his seat at The Third Rail, much to his dismay. So much for a quiet evening.

Nick was at the bar, too, trying in vain to get shitfaced. God only knew what type of shit he'd just been through. He still had him in the dark about Sunshine, and rightfully so; but if only he'd let loose once in a while instead of bottling everything up as he did so often, things would be so much better. Take a break from it, a step back, see the whole picture. That was how Hancock liked to handle things, anyway.

Across from Nick, MacCready sat in a booth by himself sulking as he did, frowning at his glass. Poor kid. He wished he could break away already and comfort the guy, but the drifter on his left was waxing poetic about the spouse and kids he'd left behind at Diamond City and, well... It'd be rude to interrupt or to not pretend to be listening.

The karaoke was a hoot, though. A good call on Charlie's part, that clever little robot. Everyone could use a laugh or two, so he was glad to see he'd taken the suggestion to have an open mic night. Then again, he hadn't thought _everyone _would sing; he'd hoped somebody would recite some of that Daytripper-induced poetry Goodneighbor was so well-known for, or do some stand-up comedy. Something. But everyone after Magnolia's turn decided to howl some eardrum-shattering tune.

His Sunshine sidled up to the bar in a little number hugging her small waist: a pair of black slacks that would have been just that on anyone. On her, though, it should have been a crime. She leaned over to speak to Charlie, but all Hancock could stare at were how wide her hips were, how thick her ass and thighs were and to wonder how good it would feel to sink his digits into that soft, dimpled flesh. _Holy shit, Sunshine._ Now she was chatting up Nick, giving him a coquettish wink that made Hancock's heart skip a few beats and it hadn't even been meant for him. He was sure if she ever looked at him like that, he'd need a couch nearby or something; in fact, he was thankful he'd been sitting at the moment. Couldn't have trusted his knees to keep him upright.

She cruised through the riffraff to get to the pianist, to whisper something in his ear before braving the microphone herself. When she began to sing, he felt something permeate through the thick leathery remnants of his skin and deep within him. Like a small, distant bell had been rung, sonorous and clear and attuned to the same frequency as his soul. It was a strange feeling, one he'd had before when he'd made the mistake of getting too tangled up in someone he wasn't supposed to have, someone who wouldn't see past the facade of charm and glamour to see the real him. It was frightening and wonderful and lonely and warm all at once, like a puff of Turbo. Slowing everything down until he could only focus on her, bathing in the spotlight. Was she real? He had to wonder sometimes. She seemed too perfect like she'd walked out of one of his dreams.

The jukebox was playing some old prewar tune in a language he couldn't understand, but she and Magnolia were in each other's arms, and Mags looked awestruck for once. Like she couldn't believe she was being swept off her feet. Julia was giving her that look, mirroring the one Mags had mastered in the bedroom: intense and dark, hungry and passionate like she'd devour you right then and there and you were the only thing to sate her appetite. Both amusing and scary and so fucking hot. Especially when she dipped Mags low, much to her surprise, and equally unexpected when the singer brought Julia's lips down to her own. Mags always did snag the good ones, didn't she?

A new song began to play and some of the drifters went up to dance, staggering about into each other. This was like foreplay for them, anyway. Julia plopped down next to him in a fit of giggles.

"Now, that was something I'd never done before," she said, a hint of dark red blooming beneath her copper skin.

"What, perform in front of an audience? I don't believe it for a second, Sunshine."

"No, I mean... Kiss another woman."

"What? Get outta town. Never?"

She shook her head, hiding her face in her hands. Hands down, cutest shit he'd seen since he'd caught a kitten playing with a ball of yarn. "Is it weird that I liked it?"

Hancock laughed. "Why would that be weird?"

She shrugged. "I mean... I guess I'd thought about it before. But things were so different... I guess I never got the chance."

"Got any other firsts you wanna knock off that list tonight?"

Her smile faded from a schoolgirl-like daze to a conspiratorial smirk. "I'll get back to you on that."

Then, her eyes widened and she lit up and darted for Nick without so much as excusing herself. Not exactly what he'd had in mind for firsts, but whatever buttered her biscuit, right? The song changed into another slow number in the same language as before and he swore he saw recognition light up in Nick's eyes. Must have been one he remembered from back in the day. Lucky son of a gun. And when had he planned to tell him he knew how to dance? Bullshit.

A skeletal hand perched itself just at the small of her back. He wanted to imagine it was his hand there instead, lingering in the dangerous limbo, feeling how she dipped in at the spine and jutted out so round and thick... While still being respectful. He wouldn't touch her if she didn't give him permission. He may have been a promiscuous ghoul, but he wasn't fucking _feral._ Her hand rested on Nick's synthetic one. Could he feel it? Was it soft and dainty? Or was it as dangerous as the bruises on her knuckles suggested? If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it at the base of his throat, not quite squeezing, but enough to let him know she was there, in control, that she owned him, all of him.

When the song ended, Nick bolted like a stray bullet. Maybe he'd been feeling it, too. Shit, he hadn't even touched her and he'd fallen head over heels for her. He couldn't imagine having shared such an intimate connection like a memory together, experiencing it as one... That shit was way beyond sex or making love. Poor guy was probably just as confused as he was right now. Except Hancock prided himself in going with the flow, being in the moment, letting the bad crash in with the good as it came. And Nick... He wasn't sure about Nick.

"No way!" MacCready whined, turning red at having so many eyes on him all of a sudden. Julia must have asked him to dance or something and the brat wasn't having it.

"Oh, come on, now, Mac. The lady just asked you to dance."

"I don't fu—freaking dance. I just wanna drink alone."

Hancock frowned at him and took Julia's hand instead, and it was just as soft and powerful as he'd imagined and he nearly groaned in satisfaction of knowing he'd been right. "I'll dance with ya, Sunshine. And pick out a good one. That song you danced with Nicky was too easy. I want somethin' I can really move to, ya dig?"

She looked at him from over her shoulder before selecting another tune from the jukebox. He had no idea what this kind of music was, but it was the kind to wriggle its way through your feet and into your bones and hell yeah he liked this. He clapped his hands together. He was so ready for this.

Until he stepped on her foot for the first time.

"Ow," she whispered, trying to keep her composure.

"Sorry there, Sunshine. How do ya do this?"

"It's the cha-cha-cha." Like that was supposed to clear things up for him. "So, one, two, cha-cha-cha..." The quick three steps made her hips move in some kind of enticing way because he was no longer focused on her feet. "Three, four, cha-cha-cha..."

"Yeah, yeah. Hot-chocha..."

She snorted and would have laughed if he hadn't stepped on her again. "Okay, that one really hurt."

"Sorry, sorry. Uh... Sh—show me again." What was it with his feet that wouldn't follow the count? Oh, right. It was the hand shelved on her hip, following its movement, drawing up images of what she'd look like grinding on his lap.

"Ow—Jesus... Hancock!" Her brows were furrowed but her lips kept twisting into a smile.

"Wait, hold on. I'll get it, I'll get it." One step, two step, and God, she felt incredible in his hands.

"Hancock!"

* * *

He'd no idea how he'd gotten his tongue so deep down in her throat, nor how they'd gotten into his bedroom, but he wasn't about to start asking questions. She tasted like wine and Mentats and desire and he wanted all of her right now, on this couch. Aching, burning, he needed her more than any fix he'd ever craved, more alluring than Med-X, more painful than Ultrajet and if he didn't get his hands on her skin he swore he'd run out of breath. She was liquid form on his lap, sliding her hands and arms around him, pushing off at his coat, mouth tugging at his lips, hips rocking over his clothed form and he hadn't even taken off anything of hers.

Hancock groaned and peeled himself away from her, the hand in her hair holding her steady. "Whoa, whoa, slow down there, Sunshine. I wanna savor this."

Her tongue swept across her lips so achingly slow. He had to fight the urge to follow it with his own. She stood up off his lap and the couch, just as breathless as he was, and took a cartridge of Jet off his table.

"Mmm. Wanna do a hit?" he purred.

She didn't break eye contact when she pressed down and filled her mouth with the vile red aerosol. Not until she passed it on through a kiss, made him breathe their shared air, swallow the tingly current of electricity that made him dizzy and giddy and oh, she tasted so good.

"You ever do Ultrajet?" he murmured, still riding that tippy-top, cloud high.

There was some silence and then he heard her snort. "With that half-life? You kiddin' me? No way."

"What? You holdin' out on me, Sunshine?"

She quirked her eyebrow and took a knee in front of the table. The Party Time Mentats rattled around in the tin she pulled out, four tablets in total. The blade of her knife crushed each one into a fine powder and separated them into neat little rows resembling freshly shoveled snow. "I know you got a pipe here somewhere, Daddy-O. Go get it."

He almost quipped that this was his house but she was so hot and he was so high, he didn't really fucking care and he went to get it. "How do I know you're not trying to kill me, huh?"

Julia took the antique blown glass pipe from him and carefully scooped one line into its mouth. "Now what could I possibly gain from killing the mayor of Goodneighbor, hm?" Out came two syringes: Calmex and Med-X, and she made a slurry with it before lighting the bottom of the pipe with her lighter. Oh, this had to be some kind of dream.

"Money? Power? Notoriety?"

Her dark gaze flickered up to him from the pipe before she gave an amused huff. "Is that what you think I'm after, Mr. Hancock?"

"I dunno, Sunshine." She was so close now, he could almost feel her lips brush against his whenever one of them spoke. "Why don't you tell me?"

She held the pipe in one hand and slipped his tricorn hat with the other. It found its place on her head. "Same thing as you, I guess, right? To forget." God, if she rode him with nothing but that stupid hat on he could die happy right here and now. "Wanna fly with me?"

An angel. She was a chemical angel soaring on majestic wings of intoxication and she was inviting him to join her up there in her realm where nothing hurt and the nightmares were gone and the guilt melted away and there was only pleasure, pleasure, sweet pleasure. Hancock nodded dumbly. She held a puff in her mouth before passing it on to him. He breathed in, held the bitterness in his mouth as long as he could stand it before crashing into her sugar candy tongue, all slickness and sweet and vibrant and colors and music. Her hair was the clouds and his fingers spread out to fly, fly, fly into celestial eternity, against her body all heat and crashing ocean waves. He could stay here forever with her, chasing the siren's voice into her watery lair until he drowned in her a happy man.

His eyelids fluttered open weakly and saw her smile down at him, beatific and gentle like some holy madonna. "Holy shit, Sunshine," he must have said for the twentieth time today.

She hummed. "Never done Cloud-9 before?"

"Fuck no. But it's on my list now. Holy shit."

Her hands were caressing his scalp. Were it not for the chems buzzing in his bloodstream right now, he thought, he'd push her far away. It hurt, having someone so close, seeing him, every ragged scar, every waxy crease and wrinkle and tendon of his in technicolor without thinking about how disgusting he was. About how the outside was exactly the same as his insides: thin-skinned and ugly and cowardly. "Only one other thing compares to it, y'know." Her voice was low, heavy with too much lust to merely be suggestive. He caught her wrists when she began to undo his shirt, despite the far more carnal man in him protested against it.

"And I can't wait to compare it, Sunshine," he said, kissing one of her wrists. "But I think I'd rather do that while your mind is nice and clear, don't you?"

"My mind is _fine..._ Besides, wasn't this what you wanted?" She ripped her hands away from him and began working on her blouse and he couldn't look, couldn't look because then he wouldn't trust himself to stop and this was wrong, wrong, wrong. "You've been dying to get me naked since I came here, haven't you? That's what you've been telling everyone. That's what you've been suggesting to me whenever we meet, isn't it?"

"Sunshine, wait. No. Not like this... I..." What had he expected? Yes, he'd wanted to fuck her until she couldn't move off his mattress, but he'd wanted more tender moments too: to make her laugh, to watch her smile or bite her lip while she was deep in thought, to feel her breath fan over him in her sleep and... No, he wasn't sure what he'd wanted.

She must have noticed how dejected he was because she got off his lap and began collecting her things in a huff. He didn't stop her. Too much shame and guilt. And he hadn't even really touched her, either. He felt naked and small and vulnerable and all he'd been missing were his jacket and hat, both tossed next to him on the floor.

He hadn't touched her, nor insulted her and yet...

He'd really fucked things up with Sunshine, hadn't he?


End file.
